


Touch, Tone & Filter

by ViciousInnocence



Series: Co-Dependent Losers [4]
Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: #terriblesummariesRus, F/M, Floof, Fluff, Instagram, Jealousy, M/M, MacDennis - Freeform, Possessive Behavior, Season/Series 11, implied CharDee, lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-06-03 23:45:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6631903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViciousInnocence/pseuds/ViciousInnocence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gang (Dee, Mac & Dennis) use Instagram.</p><p>MacDennis floof (fluff).<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dee

**Author's Note:**

> They're not going to be long chapters at all; this is just how I wanted to break them up (:

It’s one in the afternoon on a Tuesday, though it feels like it could be the evening already, possibly even a Wednesday. The week is dragging and Dee is so, so, insanely bored. It’s really muggy today too, sunny with no chance of a breeze. She wishes their AC actually worked as she pulls the underarms of her vest down a little to avoid becoming visibly damp.

Her other hand is scrolling her phone through Instagram aimlessly, having already exhausted the apps that she vaguely gives a shit about. Really she doesn't care much for looking at anything and everything on her phone. But at least this way the images change more often, unlike the monotony of Paddy’s bar scene; including her brother and Mac who are ever more irritating to her since Charlie and Frank have gone away.

None of them are really sure _where_ they’ve gone exactly. But judging by the lack of communication, pleas for help and/or being press-gagged into a scheme they’ve determined they’re probably on some kind of vacation. Which really should be insulting to Dee, she thinks, as she absently sips her ice-cold beer. Frank had never taken either her or Dennis away,  _alone,_ on some all expense paid trip. But honestly, she’s not jealous – she just misses Charlie. Dee coughs a little with a mouthful of beer;

_‘The fuck was that.’_

She winces a little, instantly dismissing that train of thought and focuses on the images flying past on screen in front of her:  
Food.  
Cats.  
Nails.  
Food.  
Dumb bitch taking selfie.  
Food.  
Trees.  
Hills.  
Dumb bitch #2.

Really Dee does not see the point in Instagram at all; who really gives a shit about all of this? Like really? Does anyone actually think, oh thank god I checked Instagram today; I would have missed about twenty snaps of the same M.A.C. lipstick and about fifty salads. She only ever got it to keep tabs on a few people she’d crossed around Philly. Background facts about their various frienemies never hurt. They never knew when they might need them.

At that moment she scrolls past the waitress posing in front of the mirror with an apron. Dee snorts and further chugs her beer, holding her thumb down on the screen and shifting the weight on her feet.

_‘As if she got a new job. Still a waitress though, ha, loser.’_

Her darkly lined eyes scan over the comments, until she catches the name of her new place.

She’s not sure why she does it. She doesn’t like that girl. Her only redeeming quality is that she’ll do literally anything for $500. She also guesses she should keep tabs on this information for Charlie.

At the thought of Charlie, Dee flicks her thumb angrily, watching images fly again. It’s not her fault she can’t stop thinking about him. He’s the only fun member of the gang anyway. Mac and Dennis are boring as shit without Frank around; constantly just flapping around aimlessly together in drunk laughter, or gazing like love-sick suckers into each others eyes. Dee resists the urge to roll her own, because the distant soft sound of their conversation sounds like they’re doing exactly that right now.

Seriously if Frank and Charlie don’t come back soon she might actually be forced to make _new friends_.

She hungrily downs the beer because she needs it to remain optimistic. She wonders at what point she let herself become so hopelessly detached from the world and sucked into their weird gang. She decides to let herself flip through a few more images and then go grab another beer. At least if she gets drunk enough the day will go faster.

Then she hits another photo which makes her thumb tap down hard on the screen, holding the endless reel in place as her eyes widen a little. Sometimes she forgets that her brother fucking loves this egotistical app, like the massive self-centered freak he is.

Normally his posts subsist of frontal selfies in the mirror, but this is most obviously a photo from behind. Like literally. The main focus of this is his pale ass. He’s got his back facing the mirror, arching subtly to elongate his body down to the curves and dimples of his butt which is neatly cut off by the bathroom counter underneath the mirror. Of course his hair is perfectly coiffed, despite the caption promising he’d just exited the shower. Dee hates to admit it, but he does look good. From the way he's angled his face, being careful not to twist and contort his body garishly, to the smooth curves of his toned muscle which has a soft glow in the lighting of her bathroom. Dennis has always had an artistic eye for this kind of thing, not that she’s going to tell him or add another like to the image, on top of the two hundred it’s currently building from two hours ago.

Dee’s not phased by the photo; they’re family. She’s seen it _aaallllll_ before. She can’t help laughing at the tags though, walking up the bar a little towards Mac and Dennis, making them jump apart a little in shock from where they were leaning up close against the bar.

“The fuck is this?” she grins, approaching them and flashing the phone around.

Dennis halfheartedly turns to look, alongside Mac, who squints at the image in her hand.

“Are we actually gonna care about this Dee?” he says, as if looking at her phone screen is some kind of massive chore.

Dennis recognises the image instantly, but thankfully Dee has flipped the phone round hopefully before Mac stops staring at, and works out the identity of, the man’s butt in the photo.

“Hash-tag L.G.B.T?” she reads off the comments, raising an eyebrow, before continuing,

“Hash-tag instagay?” she can’t help but loudly laugh at that last one, as she looks up at Dennis to catch Mac flinching out of the corner of her eye.

Dennis just smiles back smugly,

“Yeah sure, why not? Why limit my audience to chicks? No harm in boosting that follower count,” he breezes easily, failing to notice Mac staring at him confused in the background. Dee’s eyes flick from her brothers friend back to the man himself.

“This is gay-baiting, pretty desperate if you ask me,” she patronises.

“Gay…baiting?” Mac half-whispers in the background, going ignored.

“Nobody is asking you; you're just jealous,” Dennis preens.

Dee snorts,

“You kidding me? Instagram’s for losers who like to think they’re gonna get famous, when all they’re really doing is posing half-naked with Moschino handbags, helping a bunch of other fuck-tards jack-off,” she summarises, now wondering why she had even bothered coming over.

“I bet you paid for half your followers,” she purrs, watching anger flash behind her brothers eyes,

“My follower count went up by a hundred in the first hour of that photo going live,” he snaps back, to which Dee grins,

“Going live? Who do you think you are? Kim K?” she breathes out, reaching for a beer under the bar and reading the last of the tags.

“Twink, ha, I think you have to be under twenty-five for that to count,” she finishes, growing bored again now, popping the cap off and drinking hungrily.

Dennis is glaring and about to speak, when Mac grabs his arm.

“Dennis, what’s gay-baiting?” he asks, as if there’s no way Dee could hear him.

It’s kind of funny, Dee thinks, pulling the bottle away. Mac should really know better than anyone; it’s exactly what Dennis has been doing to him ever since they first met.

Instead she watches her brothers clap a hand on Mac’s bare shoulder. Dee notices they’re both wearing those ridiculous matching camo vests because of the heat, she feels her nose wrinkle up a little as she represses a laugh.

_‘If he really wanted to gay-bait anyone, those tops would do it better than anything else.’_

“It’s less _gay_ -baiting, more something like, signal boosting. Know what I’m saying?” he replies and they both watch the cogs turning in Mac’s head, his brown eyes darting between them, unable to come to any realisation.

“Oh-yeah, makes sense,” he lies blinking clueless, as Dee looks on pitifully.

They’re both smiling at each other again in that sickening way of theirs. Fucking _gross._

There’s being a third wheel. Then there’s being a third wheel with Mac and Dennis. It’s as awkward as it would be with anyone else, except there’s not really any feelings of jealousy. It’s more like being witness to a suffocating illness; they make her feel sick anyway. She doesn’t need them bringing her down.

For some reason Artemis springs into her mind. Artemis is fun; though her company inevitably comes with a severe hangover, at worst the loss of a day. Dee nods her head to one side a little in thought. She could use some fun though.

Fuck it. Not like she specifically had any other plans for the day and she really does need to spend more time away from her trash-bag of a brother and Mac. With any luck hopefully Artemis will let her crash at her place. That would be a welcome break from being wedged between three sweaty man bodies on that California king bed, these summer months were not kind to them.

She turns on her heel and grabs her handbag from the cash register.

“Alright, later white-stains,” she announces, aware they’re probably not listening,

“I’m gonna find Artemis. And I’m gonna get _fucked up_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya, don't know when I'll add to it. Though it's not really got much of a plot; it's just harmless fluff. This is basically a much needed form of stress release/escapism rn lol. I'm in such a weird mood nowadays.
> 
> Basically inspired by [this post](https://www.instagram.com/p/BEZo-FOF0Y-/?hl=en) @liamrileycb on this week's Instagram feed. I just totally see Dennis doing this.


	2. Mac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight rating increase lol but nothing too crazy. Enjoy!

Mac still doesn't understand gay-baiting. Even though he'd looked it up on Google after the incident a few days ago. He doesn’t really understand the existence of apps themselves, honestly; despite what he leads Dee and Dennis to believe. He  _understands_ Instagram, he knows how to post photos and like other peoples, sometimes he steals Dennis’ phone to stalk dudes on the fitness tags. He also knows Dennis is becoming ever more obsessed with his weird Instagram account or followers recently.

He just doesn’t see the point in having a profile himself, in this rare instance he kind of agrees with Dee. He severely doubts he could care too much about anybody else’s photos and he’s never been great at taking them himself. And all this bullshit Dennis is talking about, aesthetics and themes for his page. How can he have a theme for his page when he’s taking photos of all kinds of different shit? That’s not a theme if the subject of his images are constantly changing. He also doesn’t understand how hand-holding fits in with his theme. All he knows is that he doesn’t like the thought of being in a photo of hand-holding. _Homo-hand-holding._

It’s not exactly signing a one-way contract into the pits of hell, but it doesn’t sit well with Mac either. He doesn’t think he wants any lingering material evidence of…that kind. Especially because Dennis is insisting they need bed-sheets as a back-drop. Like, fucking, why? Why?

“Because it has to be convincing. And nobody is gonna know it’s you anyway,” Dennis whines, his arms tensing up and his eyes narrow a little in the light of Dee’s lounge. Mac can tell he’s slowly losing patience with him and he shuffles his feet under pressure.

“Then you should probably take the photo with Dee, her hands are huge,” he says meeting the other's eyes, unable to stop the jabs, even when she’s not in the room to feel spited.

“Mac, can you just come and get in the god damn photo already,” Dennis growls out, tilting his head and reaching out towards him. Mac realises he may have misjudged the approach of his anger. He feels himself give in as he panics.

“Fine, sure, whatever,” he says, grabbing Dennis’ hand in his and letting himself be dragged into the bedroom. It's eight in the evening on a Friday, if he had anything better to do he'd already be out of the apartment doing it.

In the very short space of time it took them to get there his hand is already beginning to get clammy against Dennis’. He's sat down on the bed to drape their clasped hands on top of the sheets. Dennis is up close next to him and Mac can’t stop how his torturous mind wanders as his friend starts clicking away at something on his phone.

Mac can feel his palms beginning to sweat against his will, he's not sure where to look. He pretends it’s not Dennis’ hand he’s holding, but it's hard to do on a hot summer evening sealed up against his body.

“Have you taken it yet?” he asks, irritation hopefully masking anything else, light goosebumps breezing his bare arms as air blows in through the window. He looks carefully at Dennis, expression pulled into a frown.

Dennis ignores him and puts his phone into his lap, Mac watches, hating how his heart lurches feeling his close friend's hands sandwiching his own.

“Here, you should hold my hand like this,” Dennis explains, unhooking his fingers with his free hand before weaving their digits together again, one in between the other. Mac raises an eyebrow at their hands and then at Dennis’ face, but he's not paying attention, merely grabbing his phone and staring through the camera.

"Is that even going to make a difference?" Mac deadpans, forcing his attention. 

“Uhm, yeah. Look here, that’s so much better,” he states, flashing his phone across in the others direction, but Mac can’t understand how one is better than the other. It’s just hand-holding. There is no way there's a technique to this, if there was, he would know. It's pretty sweet that Dennis can teach him though. He wonders why Dennis prefers it this way, but decides it's not important.

“Your hand's so fucking sweaty by the way, it’s kinda gross.” Dennis mutters to him, re-positioning his phone.

 _'Well, that's KINDA your fucking fault,'_ Mac thinks, but he manages to hold his tongue. 

Nevertheless Dennis snaps away and Mac patiently sits and waits for it to be over, knowing better than to risk the other's rage by asking when, impatiently like a child. Dennis’ fingers occasionally shift under his own and Mac can't help acknowledge the fact that this degree of intimacy is not enough. It’s taking an awful lot of will to resist. Moments like this make hell seem a viable option, if it meant being able to see Dennis' pale skin marred under his teeth. 

_'Fuck.'_

“Done! See how this one is way better?” Dennis asks, snapping Mac' gaze from his friend's slender neck and he hurriedly nods, burning up.

Mac doesn’t care too much, but he allows his curiosity to come forth, if anything to distract himself from temptation whispering in his ear.

He watches Dennis log in and press the central button, flicking through about forty identical photos of their hands before settling on one specifically. He clicks through some buttons which change the colours,

“Oh, I like that!” Mac exclaims as their hands turn a little brighter and darker round the edges on screen.

"Ugh, too garish!" Dennis snaps halfheartedly, nevertheless subconsciously shifting a little closer so Mac can see better. Mac feels himself tense up at their close proximity, the scent of Dennis' cologne beginning to cloud his air.

"Ahhhh-" he flounders, dry swallowing and swiping his hand at the touch-screen. He wishes he knew what he was doing. He wishes he could actually focus on this and not on how badly he wants to touch Dennis.

"-how about this?" as carelessly flicks up the brightness with a finger, before the phone is violently moved out of his reach.

"Ok, you just lost your phone privileges, clearly you have no eye for this sort of thing-" Dennis lectures, before turning his head and Mac's heart pounds in horror as Dennis finally notices they're mere centimeters apart. Blue eyes flick over Mac's face and he can't help himself from freezing up under the calculated stare. He knows Dennis can read him like a book, can see it on his face now and in his body as he shifts. The atmosphere is sliding, the tension he's being building starting to spiral out of his control. Mac feels his hairs slowly rolling onto end, he's uncontrollably hot. The way Dennis looks at him, like he knows he's made of wax and he wants him to _melt_.

"I pressed the wrong one," Mac blurts out, surprising himself by remembering their conversation. But he easily drifts back into submission, feeling breath against his neck, eyeing up his friends soft lips.

"You meant the contrast?"

Mac hears, but all his focus is taken on Dennis coming closer.

“The filter?” he hears again, causing him to fall into the trap of staring into the other's eyes. 

_'Fuck.'_

He watches Dennis breathe out a short smug breath, like he knows what he's doing here. Slowly shifting to look up at him through his lashes. 

“Whatever,” Mac whispers, instantly wanting to smack himself, he's lost. He can't remember what they're talking about. He's just watching Dennis, hanging motionless, feeling his fingers softly pressing against his own on their bed.

_Their bed._

It’s so quiet Mac can hear distant traffic and birds alongside his horrible pulse in his mind. Dennis looks so fucking good with the sun hitting his skin like that, his shirt five buttons open against his bare chest and those amazing pecs. He twitches a little as Dennis slides his thumb across the sensitive artery in his wrist, he's pretty sure Dennis is some kind of demon, he's getting pulled under the ice of his eyes. Mac thinks it's cruel how they both fall into this, both of them are powerless to resist. They shouldn't. But there's a squeeze against his hand and he feels a rush of pride. Dennis wants him.

They’re kissing before it even becomes a conscious thought, Mac’s hands going straight for Dennis, working on his shirt while the other threads tightly into his hair. Dennis is instantly so welcoming and warm against him, inching closer and dragging Mac in with him as his fingers play across his thick biceps. Mac feels himself relaxing into it, the awkward tension from before developing rapidly into something more interesting. He's sure he hears Dennis let out a soft whimper as Mac pushes his shirt open, stroking the hard muscle of his abs up to his delicate throat where his pulse is beating. He pulls Dennis against him by the reverse of his neck, crushing their chests together awkwardly so his tongue can reach further inside his mouth.

Then there’s the sound of the front door and they both flinch, Mac's eyes flying open to see Dennis doing the same as they freeze, breaking the contact between their lips.

“What up boners, just came back for some booze.”

Mac feels himself forcefully rolling his eyes before he goes to resume kissing Dennis, but he leans away out of reach, blue eyes wide. Mac's hurt, then he's angry.

_'God damn Dee.'_

“You guys even home?” she sounds again, behind the wall, as Mac hears kitchen cupboards opening and the clink of glass bottles. 

“Guess not…” Dee finishes in a hushed tone, before there's a faint unscrewing of a bottle and an obnoxiously loud wet burp. Mac looks to Dennis, seeing his own disgust is being mirrored.

"Fuck, I don't feel so good," followed by another heaving motion resonating round the apartment. Mac can feel Dennis cringing in his hands and he internally curses Dee to hell and back again, as she goes a third time. Mac thinks he might actually hear her puke as there's a few more seconds of silence, but instead there's a sigh, footsteps, and then the door slamming shut again.

Mac remains frozen, turning to stare dumbly at Dennis for a few dragging seconds. His friend stares back before looking to their embraced arms which have fallen limp and now slowly drop. 

Dennis coughs a little in front of him, looking off to the wall, shaking off Mac's hands to do up the buttons on his shirt. Mac reluctantly let's him go. He can't believe it. Every time he thinks Sweet Dee can't top her record of fucking up his life, she goes and proves him wrong, like the huge inbred bird she is. He wonders how she and Dennis are actually related. How can she be so god damn _wrong_? He turns to Dennis as he notices him shuffling away a little.

“Well…that filter…it wouldn’t really go with my whole theme I’ve got going on…should be a bit paler really, more faded, like this," he says, and Mac looks down to the phone in his hand, that he'd honestly forgotten about. He sees Dennis settles on some sad washed out colours which he can’t say he likes.

Dennis edits the photo so fast he can barely follow what he's doing. Becoming bored he slowly becomes aware a slight situation had developed in his pants. He bites his lip, before glancing down to see a slight bulge in his jeans. 

_'Fuck's sake.'_

He thinks Dennis isn't looking so he shifts a little, though it turns out to his horror that he's wrong. Dennis flinches in shock and tracks his movements, only to curse under his breath when he realises what Mac was attempting to hide, looking back to his phone with determined fascination; Mac internally curses every saint.

Eventually, after what feels like forever with the tension weighing down around Mac, Dennis finally posts the photo before hurriedly standing to his feet.

“So,” he starts, back facing Mac on the bed, he stretches. Mac feels his eyes running straight down his spine and fixating on his butt. He hates himself so much.

“Vodka?” Dennis suggests, twisting his body round with a dangerous spark in his eyes.

Mac flinches a little, the tiny smirk on his best friend's face knows he was staring. But he still breathes out a sigh of relief that he hadn’t been aware of.

“Vodka.” He smiles and nods, as a devilish grin spreads across Dennis’ face.

* * *

When Mac wakes up in the early hours of the morning, he finds himself sat up with Dennis slumped up against him on the couch. His face is buried into his chest and both their hands are on the jug of mixer in his lap, the contents of which he now notices smell like paint stripper.

Which explains why he's wasted.

He remembers letting the old man who sleeps with them into the flat at midnight, and Dee calling in with Artemis after that. He remembers drinking until those two had left for a warehouse rave, Mac had wanted to go with them, even throwing on his mesh vest in all the drunken excitement, but Dennis had insisted they were way too tired to go with them. Initially Mac had argued this, because, hello? Free rave with Artemis? He hates to admit it but Dee has some pretty awesome friends. But Dennis had given him that scheming look in his eyes, a hint of promise hidden behind the instruction to stand down. 

Mac had stood in solemn silence, feigning yawns while Dennis waved them out of the apartment with the promise they were probably just going to go straight to sleep. 

Though that was clearly a white lie because as soon as that door was shut Dennis had been on him faster than a shotgun, dragging him down to the couch with more energy than he'd seemed to possess in weeks. He was suddenly so horny Mac had barely been able to protest having his dick aggressively dry humped within an inch of his life, while Dennis' tongue roughly licked its way down his throat. He'd been forced to stain his underwear because Dennis seemed to get off on having the power to make Mac come through his clothes. It was fucked up.

Mac had still jerked him off afterwards, watching Dennis' hips canting up into his hand as if he was simultaneously riding his dick. He can still see Dennis leering down, eyes clouded in darkness, red lips whispering his name. Mac hopes he can burn that into his memory for months. Dennis had also ruined his mesh shirt when he came, further smearing fluid across his abs with his fingers. Thinking back to it Mac can't believe he let him do that. That was one of his favourite tops.  
  
Though he'd had the sense to change afterwards, he still feels disgustingly guilty. He'll probably regret all this when he's sober, but that's not his problem. Right now he's fucked and doesn't give two shits.

He chances a look down at Dennis now, ignoring the world washing around in his vision and focusing on his friend. He wishes Dennis would wake up, he's horny now from looking back at last night. He wonders if the angry hand-job would be worth it though, Dennis hates being forced awake.

He sits awake for a few minutes, as his confused boner slowly calms down, he realises he's bored. He may as well mess around on Dennis' phone, it's the only form of entertainment nearby and he really can't be bothered with dealing with sleep-deprived Dennis. He was perpetually tired as it was. Though if he ate more, or maybe even took those iron tablets he bought for him, he wouldn't even have that problem. He forces himself to stop thinking about it before he gets too angry, carefully un-threading his right arm from underneath Dennis, reaching around him into his back-pocket to retrieve his phone.

He wraps the arm back around Dennis, fingers gently holding him below his ribs. He finds himself automatically opening up the front camera. It's lucky that there’s just enough light from the window to cast a small glow across Dennis where he lies on his chest. He passes the phone into the other hand, angling the camera at Dennis asleep on his sleeveless t-shirt and presses the shutter button.

He may have picked up a few things from Dennis, he realises, when he notices that the photos would look better without the jug of mixer; which he quickly discards. This also causes Dennis to shift in his sleep and thread his skinny arms around his torso. He can’t help but feel himself glow a little as Dennis nuzzles against him, lips pressing into his chest through his clothes. He silently wishes this could be Dennis permanently. But that would be much too simple. If there's anything Mac's learnt by now in life is that nothing can ever be simple.

He re-angles the camera, just as a beam of sun breaks through the window to cast over them. He takes a few shots, moving the phone around a little for some kind of variation, until he gets bored, bringing the screen close to see the results. 

They're actually not that bad, he thinks. Though that could just be the alcohol.

He messes around with the editing system, trying to mimic Dennis, he's not really sure what looks _'good'_. Mac personally thinks Dennis looks good in anything. 

Eventually he feels his eyes hurting and sleep calling out to him. He chooses a filter and tags Dennis, carefully typing out the caption with one hand,

_Ssleep nowww_

He enters the hashtag and sees a bunch of suggestions. He's seen Dennis do this before, so he copies him, aimlessly clicking on everything that comes up, hurriedly, wanting to return to sleep. Once that's done he hits send, finding himself staring at the tiny screen. Waiting for a reaction.

It takes a few seconds and the phone goes onto its backlight, but slowly and surely likes begin to roll in. 

Mac feels his tired head loll a little and he slumps back against the couch, hugging Dennis tighter, causing him to hum happily, obviously having some kind of pleasant dream. He stares at the photo he'd just taken of Dennis, the image of it blurring a little as his eyes slowly flutter closed of their own accord. His eyes trace hurriedly over the details, Dennis looks so different when he sleeps.

He studies the picture for a few moments more. He notices he wasn't careful enough to hide his identity, the tattoo on his right arm is partially visible where he clutches Dennis, but it's too late to do anything about it.

He's passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BABIES!!!!  
> For some reason it's hard for me to get into Mac's mindset? Dee's chapter was like natural, so I hope this one was ok. Attempting the mine-field of Dennis Reynolds next time waaaaahhhhhh ; n ;
> 
> Thank you for reading this!


	3. Dennis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this got really fucking long.
> 
> Reference to Charlie Catches A Leprechaun. Also includes slight Dee/Dennis if you want to see it that way, but really, I think it's been that way from the first part.
> 
> Anyway; enjoy~

Instagram wasn’t the first thing Dennis had checked the morning after he and Mac drank themselves into oblivion; or “Wednesday”. But after he’d showered and was sipping on coffee with his hair in a towel, his phone had been blowing up with notifications, despite the fact he doesn’t remember posting anything at all. Instantly his face dropped as he chewed on a bite of dry white toast.

‘ _Fucks sake.’_

Drunk posts are never classy and considering he can't even remember using his phone last night, this one is evidently not going to be an exception. He puts the mug of black coffee down, waiting for the app to open up.

When it does he’s shocked to see the photo. His eyes narrow a little in confusion as he swallows the mouthful of his breakfast.

It’s him. And it doesn’t take a fucking genius to work out that the photographer is Mac. Not only because he’d gone and shot in parts of his god-awful tattoos, but also because the editing is so damn clumsy. It’s way too much filter and contrast, it’s positively lurid and stands out like a sore thumb amidst the rest of his page; he hadn’t even turned down the saturation. Dennis feels himself drumming his fingers on the table in irritation as he goes to delete it.

But before he does that, something like curiosity makes him refresh the page, just to see the results. Surprisingly for an early hours post, it hadn’t done that badly, the comments section was even over fifty counts long.

Dennis frowns a little and picks up the piece of toasted bread, taking another small bite to chew on.  Now he’s not sure about deleting it really, especially because most of the comments are directed towards complimenting him.

Taking this time to look closer, it’s shockingly not a bad photo of himself. Though that kind of makes sense since Mac was the one to take it.

Logically it’s not a good idea to throw this kind of traction away, but Dennis can’t have this one photo sabotaging his pristine themed blog.

He deletes it.

Through another crunch of toast he reasons that he may as well use the photo again, and just re-hash it to his own aesthetic. After all, it fits in with this whole LGBT theme he’s been cultivating lately.

_‘Gay-baiting.’_

Dennis resists rolling his eyes.

_‘Jealousy.’_

He corrects in his mind.

He finds the photo amongst ten others in his camera roll, re-edits and posts in seconds with the same amalgamation of tags. And as he blows on his coffee, the likes start accumulating all over again. It’s strangely satisfying making posts like this, almost like validation, after all, why else would they be called _“followers”_.

He turns his attention away from the phone screen in his hand, to the couch where Mac still sleeps on. While he has no knowledge of this photo being taken, he can still recall some memories of last night. The image of Mac beneath him on the couch, cheeks flushed in awe, with Dennis' cum dripping down his abs flashes before him. 

Dennis forces himself to stop thinking about it now before he finds himself needing another cold shower. He's been awake for a couple hours, but Mac hasn’t budged an inch, hadn’t even flinched when Dennis had unwrapped himself from his heavy arms. He’s always been a deep sleeper, unlike the rest of the gang. As much as Mac gets to complain about his shitty childhood and white-trash tragedy of a family, clearly he didn’t have it as bad as his family or Charlie.

At least Mac frequently felt safe enough to sleep so heavily.

He takes another sip of coffee, suddenly feeling jealous of Mac’s prolonged sleep. Standing up with the full intention of waking him, he pads over in his flip flops, the scent of coffee trailing after him.

When he’s moved to stand over Mac, he notes curiously that for once he doesn’t look like an unconscious oversized child. For once he’s not drooling, or even got his mouth open for that matter, which is distantly annoying in a way. Of course the one night he manages to keep his trap shut is the one night he’s not draped himself across Dee and/or Dennis.

He’s not sure if it’s because Instagram’s already open in his hand, but he ends up taking a picture.

_“P-a-y-b-a-c-k.”_

_Share._

Dennis smiles and drinks more coffee, nothing like an adorable online back-and-forth between partners to keep the LGBT off his back.

Almost forgetting, he violently kicks Mac in the knees to shock him awake with a yelp before he walks away, eyes on the orange lights of his phone.

* * *

Through the course of the evening, comments and hit count come in and Dennis really didn't think they would have left him this agitated. He tells himself it’s only because the photo Mac had posted of himself had been in the early hours of this morning and he’d posted the shot of Mac sleeping at the prime-time of 2pm.

There’s no other way to explain the reason why Mac had gained almost double the amount of likes he had. Other than possibly he’s a better photographer than Mac is.

“Oh-oh! How about that one!”

“In the suburbs? Seriously, have you learned nothing?”

“Oh shit, it’s in the suburbs? … _keep scrolling_.”

It’s been a lazy hungover day in the apartment. Dee’s got air conditioning and with Frank away they have no reason to actually clock in and open up the bar.

“How about this one? That’s within your budget! And it looks pretty homely too!”

“Ugh, yeah Dee. Maybe if Dennis and I, were aging lesbians.”

“Look at the wallpaper: it’s covered in flowers.”

Which leads on to where they currently are at 7pm. Dennis sat at the kitchen table, while Dee and Mac are busy looking at apartments.

Initially he’d tried to join them, but he’d been elbowed out and shooed away for “crowding in on them”.

Whatever.

Dennis is nothing, if not spiteful. So he hasn’t spoken to either of them in over an hour, resigning himself to scrolling his phone. This is the only reason he finds himself having to resort to Instagram again, flicking through the comments in an absent form of distraction.

He has one hand round a bottle of beer, the other encasing his phone.

_‘Trade? What the fuck is trade?’_

He wanders idly, draining some of the beer in his hand as he double-clicks the home button and his fingers tap across the screen to safari. There’s a few descriptions online, but one in particular sticks out to him;

**_TRADE  
A theoretically straight man who likes to "sit back and get serviced" by gay/bi men, with little or no sexual reciprocation. (Note: It is specifically the lack of interest in reciprocating that defines a man as "trade.")_ **

Dennis nods his head a little in thought.

Then he smiles to himself.

_‘They should stick a photo of Mac on this website.’_

He laughs to himself, looking round up from his phone to tell somebody the joke, but there’s nobody around. He frowns as he hears Mac and his sister laughing a few metres away in the next room.  
  
There’s no way those two are having more fun than he is.

He grips his beer a little tighter, drinks down a little more than he did last time, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand angrily, re-opening Instagram, only to find the photo in question, littered with “ _traaaaadddeeee_ ” is the photo he shot of Mac.

Dennis pauses for a brief moment to take this in. He unexpectedly feels what some people might refer to as proprietorial jealousy.

But Dennis can't place his own emotions, so most of the time he ignores them.

Which returns him to the boredom of square one.

Reluctantly he shuts Instagram and opens Facebook, to trawl through another endless feed of people's lives who he feels quite frankly, are all beneath him. At least Instagram has some kind of visual theme and system for sifting through the crap to find accounts worth following. Facebook is essentially just people bitching about their boyfriends and the rent. Nobody cares. 

He scrolls it fairly quickly, skimming the text and barely stopping, focusing on trying to work out something to get them out of the apartment. He's so bored he's actually incredibly close to suggesting the public park. Yeah. Seriously. Anything to get a break from this shit-hole.

His thumb catches on the screen at the flash of black and gold. Upon closer inspection Dennis notes its a sponsored advert for a new bar, and it's in Philly. He raises an eyebrow in thought and clicks the link. 

He then does a quick search on his phone, to make sure it all checks out. Thankfully it does; it's actually perfect, a high-end cocktail bar opening in Philadelphia's gaybourhood. They're all clearly bored, they need something to do today and messing with Mac's sexuality is a source of endless entertainment.

It's also perfect timing as he realises he's finished off the last of his beer and needs some kind of re-fill. He can sit and drink with Dee while Mac...does, whatever his thing is, it's not too important, really he just wants a change of scene. And if it's a gay bar, well, Mac's just going to have to suffer. He smirks. That's just too bad.

He stands to his feet and inspects his outfit - flawless - as usual, in a dark green shirt and equally tight jeans, so there's no need to bother changing.

Ignoring the two's current conversation which is rapidly degenerating into an argument, he strides over, pocketing his phone in his jeans and announcing his arrival.

"Guys, let's go out."

He's successful in gaining their attention as both heads whip round to face him, Dee's face scrunches up into that look of smugness which he can't stand.

"Tantrum time over already?" 

She asks, amused.

Dennis refuses to acknowledge how much she bothers him and instead changes his attention to Mac.

“C’mon Mac, we can sort our life out anytime, this bar closes in five hours.”

Mac pauses for a split second, staring up at the ceiling, before pushing himself up off the sofa, the laptop sliding off his thighs so fast Dee has to grab it before it hits the floor.

“That actually makes a lot of sense,” he says, nodding at Dennis as if he’s said the wisest thing he’s heard all week. Dennis returns the gesture, raising an eyebrow – of course he’s right.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Dee standing to her feet,

“Well all right then, I could use a drink,” she sighs out, flipping her hair back from her face.

Dennis feels his face wrinkling,

“Woah- who invited you?” he snaps, turning to Mac with a laughing smirk on his face, knowing the other was going to match his expression. He does.

Dee paces forward a little, she looks angry.

“I did. I’m inviting myself – I need to get the hell out of this apartment, I need a drink and you’re not stopping me,” she states with arms folded, her eyes are cold and dare him to disagree.

“Fine.” Dennis breathes, a little stunned but he tries not to show it; he’s never been very good at denying Dee what she wants. It’s the reason why they’ve all ended up in their current situation and many before. She just had to take that side-bet. She had to steal all Dennis’ friends. She had to become a waitress at _his_ bar. Dennis had been against all of it initially; the weird thing is that her ability to never take no for an answer is what makes all those things ok with him.

Her lips twitch upwards a little before her arms swing down by her side as she pushes past Mac and Dennis to retrieve her things from the bedroom, like she knows they couldn’t stop her. Psh. Dennis probably could – if he really wanted to.

“So! Where are we going?”

Mac’s voice jolts him out of his train of thought.

“Uh, this new bar! It’s just after Pine Street in the city,” he breezes easily, watching Mac carefully as sure enough his top lip curls a little in confusion.

“Isn’t that in Philly's gay village?”

His voice is a little too sure of himself and Dennis can’t help being smug - he totally predicted this reaction.

“I don’t know, why don’t you tell me?” he shoots back, flipping the question on its head and causing Mac to flinch under pressure. Dennis watches his mouth gape open a little as his eyes do, before he turns away to itch the back of his head – unable to maintain eye contact.

“…”

Mac mumbles something inaudibly under his breath. Dennis is about to ask him to spit it out but luckily for Mac he’s saved by his sister re-entering the room.

“Have you guys seen my silver clutch?” she asks, now sporting a short pastel dress which sways loosely about her thighs and tight around her waist. She looks good – she has definitely benefitted from Dennis living here. He doesn’t care about her continuing complaints about him and Mac, she fucking needs them. Without Mac they’d be forced to eat takeout every night and without Dennis she’d still have a wardrobe looking like it was fresh out of The Salvation Army. But with Mac making more of an effort to learn how to cook after their horrific stint in the suburbs, Dee (and her brother) had been eating better than ever before. And with Dennis disposing of over half her wardrobe into a flaming trash-can she also dressed better than she had in years. Overall she looks better materially and physically than she has in a long time.

“No,” Dennis replies, turning from Mac, who’s wondering off somewhere, to his sister who’s tearing up the couch cushions in her search.

“But that dress looks good, where’d you get it?” he asks – only asking for the purpose of self-satisfaction: he bought it himself.

“Don’t know…” Dee mutters, moving from the couch to the over-crowded shelves by the window, shoving books off carelessly onto the floor – Dennis takes note of this for the next time she tries to blame that on himself or Mac.

“It’s just one of those things that you have for so long you kind of forget ever buying it?” she explains, before letting out a noise of frustration.

“God damn it, where the hell is it?” she rages, turning round and advancing on the kitchen like a woman possessed. This recent heat-wave has lent itself to his twin’s temper making a more frequent appearance.

“If you two weren’t here tearing up the place like a pair of dogs I would have had it by now,” she continues, hurriedly opening kitchen cupboards, rooting through with the familiar clink of glass bottles.

“Dee, if you’re searching for clutch bags in your alcohol stash, your apartment’s already gone to shit.”

“Why do you need the silver one anyway?” Mac asks, joining Dennis at his side, pulling a freshly ironed (thankfully, also sleeved) shirt over his head.

“Because I just thought it would be a nice touch to my outfit and then I heard you guys saying it was Mac’s gay bar an- AH FOUND IT!”

Dennis watches his sister crawling backwards out of the kitchen cupboard, turning to his right when he feels tapping on his arm.

“It’s not my gay bar!” Mac snaps, voice verging close to the highest pitch Dennis has ever had up against his ear as he looks wide-eyed to Dee.

“Dennis chose it!” he finishes, turning to the man in question with a small pout on his face, begging him to back him up, which he does with a roll of his eyes.

“Yeah, I chose it, and Mac seems to think it’s in the village – look, can we please go already?” he pleads, willing this to not spiral completely out of control. Dee finally reaches them, opening the clutch to see it thankfully still contained a few notes of cash before dropping her phone and keys into it.

“All right, I’m ready,” she says, choosing to ignore Mac’s comment as Dennis had done, both of them unwilling for the conversation to take its usual homophobic tail-spin.

“Finally.” Dennis mutters impatiently, putting his arms round his two friends and giving them a small push in the direction of the door.

* * *

 While he assured himself half an hour ago that this is what he wanted. He always forgets about the other part, that this is what it means; for Mac to be around the gay community. To lose his exclusivity and significance, to be hit on by men, men _other than Dennis_. They’d been in the bar not five minutes and walking to their table, Mac had already been given the eye by most of the other patrons.

Dennis' mood had been black since they'd sat down and made their first order. As they'd gone up to get the first round, he’d heard the two men up at the bar whispering the dreaded “ _trade”_ under their breath, dragging out the vowels in a way Dennis couldn’t help but find irritating.

In many ways, this is exactly what he had envisaged, he just hadn't anticipated being witness to it. In summation this wasn't relaxing at all. He instead felt incredibly tense, like he had to focus himself on protecting Mac. He can practically feel all these eyes in the room, sense their sweaty palms and sick minds: it's overwhelming. It was as if this mornings comments section had just been amplified by a hundred and gone straight to his head. As usual, he tries repress it, really Mac's sexuality should be none of his buisness.

However, it had proved impossible to repress after their fourth round, after Dennis had spent the entire time they'd been in there silently wishing death upon the men at the bar who would not keep their eyes off Mac. It was taking all of Dennis' mental strength attempting to try and ignore how they both fit the mold of "Mac's type" perfectly. Both muscular and taller than he was, bearded and unfortunately also good-looking. This was exactly the opposite of the relaxing evening he'd had in mind. Mac was meant to be the one squirming under pressure, not the other way round.

When Mac slipped off to the bathroom, Dennis had been forced to watch in silent fury as the man from the bar waited a few minutes, before following Mac inside. He knew what that meant, he’d done it countless times himself, in a million different contexts before.

The flares of irritation inside him instantly multiplied into a storm, as his imagination ran wild with what could possibly be going on behind that door. He finds it's completely impossible to relax at this point: if anyone should be giving Mac another gay awakening experience in that bathroom right now, it should be him. God knows he’s struggled through so much of his crisis of faith that he actually feels a part of it.

No.

He is a part of this. How dare someone try and take that away from him? Mac owes him eternal gratitude already for putting up with him this long, for getting him off in ways best friends probably shouldn't for years now - with no questions asked - why should someone else sweep in and take all the credit at the end?

No. That is not what is happening. Screw this idea of trying to relax and letting this, this, sorry excuse of a man toy with his friends sexuality.

Dennis needs to regain control.

He tried to focus on what Dee was talking about, even as he felt himself rising to his feet, but it's no use. His mind is set.

“It’s so nice to have these moments alone together, you know? Without Frank, or Mac or Cha- hey where are you going?” Dee snaps suddenly, causing Dennis to look down where she sat. In that moment he’d been completely unaware she was there at all.

“Sure Dee – talk soon, I promise,” he says, neither half of their conversation registering in his mind as he stalks after Mac. Dee replies angrily behind him, but he’s not listening.

He pushes the door open as quietly as possible, relieved to find there’s a second one in place before the bathroom opens up behind it. He sneaks closer, the muffled voices becoming clearer as he nears the second door, gently pushing it open slightly with his fingers so he can listen in.

“-like I said though, it’s kinda early right now,” he hears in a prissy high tone.

“are you playing out after?”

The elongated vowels instantly keys in the man from the bar in Dennis’ head, he can practically see the stupid assholes face through the wall.

“Well I mean-“

His heart skips - Mac’s voice now. He’d known he was in there, but it was like hearing his voice had all his fears confirmed.

“I guess we could-“

Dennis feels a dangerous surge of adrenaline.

“Woah woah woah – we?!   
  
You got a thing going on? Awh I’m sorry babe, I got the wrong idea. I should have known-“

“What? No! I’m single- I – I’m free is what I mean.”

Dennis can see the mile-wide grin on the others face without even being in the room.

“Ah,” there’s a rustle of clothes,

“This changes everything…”

There’s seconds of horrible silence and Dennis can only imagine what’s going down. He’s close to sneaking a look through the crack in the door before the conversation continues. It’s a whisper, barely audible, but Dennis thinks he hears correctly.

“Swing by The Rainbow.”

Footsteps come towards the door.

“You know exactly where to find me.”

The other man says, in a voice that insinuates they have, in fact, met before.

In his perplexed confusion Dennis almost forgets to move away from the door. He stands a little too quickly, bringing the man’s attention to him with a slight jump as he comes through the door.

“What the-?” he gasps, coming to a halt, shooting Dennis a look like he’s a rabid animal he just saw feeding from a bin. Rapidly that look bends into a twisted expression, giving Dennis the most condescending smirk, as if he knew he’d been listening to the whole thing.

Before Dennis can get a word in, the man walks away, something like wicked laughter bubbling from his lips as he opens the door and steps out into the music playing in the bar.

Dennis stands there in a morbid silence for a few seconds too long.

He has half a mind to go after him. The other half is occupied elsewhere.

_“What is this?”_

_Suddenly Mac’s standing before him in Paddy’s basement, once again in his tight green vest and glitter. Suspicious stains trail down his front, on the fabric stretched thinly over his abs and there’s fear in Mac’s eyes as he looks back at him._

From that moment on, when rage surged through his veins like lava, Dennis thinks he should have realised he doesn’t like the idea of sharing Mac with anyone. And now it’s evident exactly who’s been trying to steal Mac away from him, it's like putting a face to the imaginary entity of The Rainbow in his head has put it all into perspective. Worst of all, Mac had shamelessly been encouraging him. The turbulent thoughts in his mind that have been swirling together since morning start to slow down and line up in his head.

He regrets bringing Mac here, because he doesn't want Mac to come out, and if he does come out - he wants to covet him, keep him  _all to himself._

The howling sound of the hand dryer brings him out of his thoughts. He blinks a little, then feels himself frown realising he can no longer stand idly by – Dennis makes a decision: Mac needs to be reminded just who he belongs to - he pushes the door aside and storms in.

“The fuck was that?” Dennis shouts over the noise, as Mac yelps in shock, turning to see his friend advancing on him.

“Dude – you scared me-” Mac complains, breathing out a sigh of relief and flicking his hands a little, presumably to dry his fingers.

“No no no – don’t avoid the question –“ Dennis demands angrily, holding up a finger to silence the other man, before swinging it towards the door.

“-the hell just happened? Who was that guy?”

Dennis registers the brief panic which flicks through Mac’s eyes and feels himself narrowing his own dangerously, challenging him to disagree. Mac bites his lower lip, shaking his hands a little more as if purely to distract himself.

He looks like he’s near daring to defend himself. Dennis feels his hands dropping to his sides, tensing, slowly balling them into fists as nails digs into his flesh. Whether Mac notices this or not, he seems to resign himself to sighing,

“Look,” he says, glancing off to the ceiling, before fully tilting his head back.

“I know why you brought me here – I’m not retarded – I know what you’re trying to do ok?” he tells the ceiling before leaning his head down and making eye contact.

“It’s not gonna work,” he says firmly and Dennis would have felt slightly taken aback by it, if it weren’t for what followed.

“I’m not gay,” Mac says, his nerves seemingly shaken, having to flick his eyes downwards under pressure,

“ _I’m not gay…”_ he whispers into his chest.

This time it’s Dennis’ turn to roll his eyes, putting his hands on his hips in frustration. Part of him can’t believe how tragic the scene is before him, but the other half reminds him that this is just to be expected. Overall he’s pitiful and unsure why he would ever try to solve this matrix of denial. It always ends up this way; both of them as fucking confused as the other.

Dennis isn’t sure what he wants to say as he feels the sad awkwardness of Mac’s denial settling in around them. But the other beats him to it.

“And I don’t, want _that_ …”

Dennis doesn’t know what he means until he looks up and see’s Mac gesturing in the direction of the door leading back into the bar.

“Of course you don’t want… _that_ ,” Dennis replies quickly, spitting the last word out with disdain, thinking back to the lesser man who was in here minutes ago. Thinking that he’d won something from Dennis.

Unlikely.

Dennis doesn’t lose – it’s not a word that’s in his vocabulary.

Mac beams back at him,

“Exactly!” he exclaims, his shoulders relaxing as if a weight has been lifted, but Dennis knows they aren’t done discussing this yet.

“Thanks bro!” he says happily, moving towards Dennis, arms out-stretched like he’s going to give him a hug. Carefully Dennis puts a flat palm to his chest, leaning away and holding him back, as he tilts his head and laughs.

“Of course you don’t want that, why would you?” he repeats as his hand slowly slips down and off Mac’s chest, the latter's arms also coming down awkwardly to rest at his sides once more.

“Me and you both know you’re a better man than he is,” he grins, as Mac’s eyes crease up happily,

“I have always been better than that,” Mac lies through his teeth and Dennis feels something drop inside him.

“Yeah!” he breathes out, before feeling his face dropping into the glare he’s practiced his whole life in the mirror,

“I mean, why go out for burgers, when you have steak at home?”

Mac’s face almost instantly falls too, and molds into confusion.

“Wait – what?” he says after a pause, and further hestitation;

“Is this about the air-miles thing?” he asks, his head slanting backwards a little, giving Dennis a sidelong glare, which the other can’t stand.

“N-no, it’s not about the air-miles thing,” he retorts, feeling irritation flaring through his veins. Though now Mac had mentioned it, a tiny voice in his head is screaming that it definitely was all his idea and he has the sudden urge to replace the scratches afresh on Mac’s face. He shuts his eyes for a second and wills himself to calm a little, before re-opening them to see Mac watching intently.

“I’m saying if you want to suck dick so badly, like the whore you’re turning into,” he half-shouts, flicking his arms in a gesture to Mac’s body with thinly layered disgust,

“You don’t have to lower yourself to the two star standards of Philadelphia, when you have me - a solid five stars – your closest male friend, sharing your god damn bed at home.”

“Jesus Christ Dennis!” Mac practically squeals, the years of denial constricting his throat – Dennis hates it.

“Could you keep it down, someone could hear!” he continues, panic written on his features as his pupils dart over Dennis’ shoulder and he quickly scopes the empty bathroom.

Dennis ignores him. Suddenly he’s moving closer, watching Mac backing up as soon as he notices, unwilling to let him come too close. Dennis finds himself getting off on Mac crawling up backwards against the wall, wedged in at an awkward angle against the tiles and the hand-dryer, heat rising to his cheeks.

_‘Good.’_

He’s clearly as uncomfortable as he feels and in these moments Dennis feels taller.

“Why do you care if they do hear, hmm?”

Dennis hisses, his voice low, fingers reaching out to trace over the others waistline, grazing Mac’s stomach where his shirt has pulled up on the dryer.

“Because like you said-” he breathes out, leaning a little closer, making sure that Mac can feel his hot breath on his exposed neck. His captive flinches along the wall a little, but there’s nowhere to go. Dennis grabs Mac by his right arm anyway, just to make sure, his long fingers curling securely around the bones in Mac’s wrist.

“-none of it’s true,” he finishes, his free hand continuing to trace absent patterns on warm skin.

He flicks his eyes up to see Mac’s round eyes staring right back at him. Dennis is well aware he’s sending some mixed messages right now but he smiles, it’s like hypnotism with Mac. It’s just too easy, he can see Mac's becoming lost.

Anticipation flares up in his stomach as he moves in a little closer, never intending to touch.

“Right?”

Just enough to tease.

“Baby?”

They hang there in uneasy suspense, sharing the hot air between them, he can tell Mac's got that faraway look in his eyes and his pulse jumps in his wrist, like he's about to give in.

Before the moment is prematurely shattered by a muffled creaking behind them.

_'God damn it.’_

Dennis leans away a little in irritation. He flicks his head to glare over his shoulder, as a young brunette walks in through the bathroom door.

When he looks up he jumps back a little, raising his arms in shock, as the door catches on his leg – remaining open.

“Woah- woah, sorry!” he says, avidly observing the scene before him. Dennis notes how his eyes crawl over the two of them and he doesn’t like it – the hand gripping Mac’s wrist twists tighter, possessively – it doesn’t go un-noticed.

“I- uh, didn’t mean to interrupt anything…” Dennis follows the brown-haired man’s gaze as it once again reaches his own, this time with a nervous laugh. If looks could kill Dennis is pretty sure this man’s blood would be spattered over the walls.

He feels Mac’s breath on his ear like he’s preparing to say something, so Dennis hurriedly slides his free hand further up underneath his shirt, coercing him with a shaky exhale into continuing silence.

The stranger looks like he wants to speak out about what he’s seeing, raising a brow, as Dennis feels Mac’s shirt dragging up higher to expose his abs, his hand folding over the other’s bare shoulder. Instead the stranger’s backing away and turning on his heel. Within seconds he’s gone, the door swinging behind him.

Dennis turns back to his friend who looks like he’s suffering from a mild panic attack mixed with arousal – it’s the iconic look that Mac is able to convey so well. Over time it’s come to suit him.

For a second, after that public show, he thinks Mac might try and take flight. But apparently over the years, his tolerance against being shamed into fleeing has grown stronger. Lest otherwise that would mean Mac actually liked public displays of affection-

Affection? No. Dennis thinks taking in the detail of the other’s face, tracing over familiar lips.

Ridiculous.

Mac’s large cow eyes are staring at him, his arms winding down to hold him, hands over his hips. His lets his own mouth pull up at the corner and slip open. Dennis likes this part the best, being pulled close enough to breathe the stale oxygen from Mac’s lungs, it’s intimate in ways he doesn’t understand; he digs his hand into Mac's collarbone to ground himself.

He pretends the words spiral through the air between them. A silent command, just past his throat, balancing on the tip of his tongue. Mac's eyes are blown.

‘ _Submit to me.’_

Mac’s the first one to lean in, he always is – Dennis makes sure of that where he can. The small buzz it gives him never gets old, his blood brother’s lips against his own. It only lasts a second and it’s a strangely tender soft pressing of skin.

And though he sometimes spends hours questioning why he keeps Mac around, moments like this make Dennis realise why he’s still addicted. Even after all these years he still has the power to make Dennis forget he can feel this way. With eyes closed, Mac bites down on his upper lip as he pulls away, grazing and stretching his flesh in the small distance between them. Dennis feels his pulse quicken as Mac’s tongue swipes his lip as he releases it from his grip.

The way Mac looks at him when his eyes fold open makes Dennis realise this may have just accelerated beyond his control.

He’s deprived of coherent thought as Mac’s hands suddenly tense, shoving him, pushing him in steps before roughly throwing him backwards, hard enough to make him stumble into one of the pristine cubicles. He smacks his palms to the walls to try and regain balance before he falls onto the toilet, his heart pounding in excitement as Mac crowds into the small area in front of him – locking the door. 

When Mac turns away from the lock, his eyes are almost black with intent and Dennis' heart sings victory. This is where he has the advantage from those desperate men at the bar; he's the only one Mac will chase - because he's the only one he wants. Before he can make a move, he’s being manhandled and pulled against Mac’s body, the others strong arms hooking under his own, feeling Mac’s fingers splayed across his clothed shoulder blades.

They feel Mac’s back hitting the door, the loud banging of the wooden frame knocking against it and holding them securely in place. Dennis feels himself let out an exhale, from this position he’s forced to look up into the others eyes, a mischievous smile spreads across his face. Mac's looking down at him like he's worth more than his weight in gold.

“What do you want me to do to you?” he asks softly, enthusiastic in how his tongue licks over his back teeth, he knows what Mac wants, he always has - but he needs him to say it.

His immediate reply is to have Mac’s hand find its home in his hair, pulling, forcing his mouth against his own in a clash of teeth and tongue. If it can be called a kiss, it’s completely different to what they had shared moments before, but it still makes him feel the same way – almost like he _could_ start drowning in the space between. As he puts his arms about the other's neck, he can’t say he likes being kissed this way, but with Mac it’s different. It's the taste of victory which spurs him on, the feeling of being held as Mac’s hands sweep down to the small of his back. It's the feeling of being safe and fitting together so perfectly all at once. When Mac pulls away his voice is slightly hoarse,

“Get on your knees,” he orders, even though their dynamic is already shifting, his hands are already pushing Dennis down. 

Dennis lets his hands slip smoothly from around the others neck, nails raking down over Mac's clothed chest before his fingers hook the waistband of his jeans. He kneels on the floor, lips wet, looking up at Mac with such intensity he's sure his eyes must glow.

"What now, baby boy?"

Mac’s so fucking loud, Dennis didn’t have to worry about assuring that everyone, and that smug asshole from the bar, in the place can hear his name. He curses and moans, convincing Dennis that this possibly is one of the best blow-jobs of his life, despite the fact they’re both relatively drunk in a public bathroom. Although really, that kind of did it for Dennis as well, hearing the swinging doors and locks from the other patrons, knowing Mac couldn’t control himself, even before them. It was kind of a _huge_ turn on, knowing everyone else was only metres away. This would be well worth future exploration.

When they exit the bathroom at last, all eyes are on Dennis, until his cold stare makes them hideaway in fear, while he makes sure he has a proprietorial arm around Mac's body.

* * *

 Later that night when he's falling asleep, Dennis decides it’s probably just as well Mac doesn’t have any interest in Instagram, hopefully he’ll never notice the photo he posts of two men kissing.

He hits _Share_ in the corner of the screen, waiting for the start of notifications before locking and blinking away the bright light of his phone.

He shoves it under his pillow and lies to face Mac, sound asleep in front of him. fingers reaching out to touch the rough stubble on his jaw.

_‘You’re mine.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #instaaddict 
> 
> Sorry if this last chapter is shit, I just wanted to finish it, really. I hate leaving things unfinished and I felt like if I didn't finish this right now, I probably wouldn't get it done, ever. Just had to power through and force it unfortunately :c
> 
> Thank you for reading anyway and I hope it wasn't totally insufferable. Eyyyyy


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